Haiku 40

Image by Andrew Hamlin.
Image by Andrew Hamlin.
Ash tree scratches air
outside the window still lit
after 3 am

One bright orange balloon
from the bunch, lost to the wind…
the sky’s only color

Two woolly afghans
curled by knees on the bed
kept close; that’s enough

Starlight, come how far
to glisten at the edges
of my open blinds

History is made
about two blocks south of here
I’m warm in the dark

History? Foolish.
Two nights later, we’ll all note
our place, our station

A dog barks inside
that storefront, locked for years…
puzzling evidence

Preacher, northbound bus
“I love you! Who else loves you!”
…then out into sluck

Crackle of the rain
as it smacks, then zigzags down
past my window ledge

His face, the flat planes
eye standing at attention
for their next target

For three syllables
she sings to Prince, “Purple Rain”
war news scrolls, silent

Croaking, she recites
“I am the light, and the way…”
her bags, her black eye

Cockroach on the sink
has a birth date and death date
much like its landlord

Two cranes almost kiss
orange to orange, above
my warm pestered head

Still mind, still body
at 3 pm on Tuesday
the wind simply is

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